


Amicable

by fusrodie



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, First Time, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fusrodie/pseuds/fusrodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She needs what he has, and she has what he seeks. The Sole Survivor and Maxson arrange a partnership and seal the deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amicable

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off my personal headcanons for Maxson, which you can [read here](http://fus-ro-die.tumblr.com/post/139463820393/im-usually-a-very-chill-person-with-headcanon), if interested.

He never told her he had never done this before. Never told her he had never seen a woman in lacy undergarments, never had a woman tint her lips red for him, never felt nails teasing the skin on his sides as soft hands rolled up his shirt. He had never kissed someone like that, open mouthed and hungry, had never nibbled on tender spots on a woman’s neck, had never palmed soft breasts under the brassiere. He never told her, and knew he did not need to.

He had never done this before, but he knew how this was supposed to work. No one had ever told him, no one had sat him down to explain, and he had never dared to experience it firsthand, but Arthur Maxson was an educated man; there was nothing he needed to know that holotapes could not teach him, no situation too outlandish a book could not clarify. His soldier mentality told him to make this quick, no time to waste, a simple business transaction to be dealt with before resuming his schedule. Yet his soldier mentality had also told him to take it slow, think it through; whatever came out of this, whatever words whispered and touches exchanged, this would last. If they had any intentions of collaborating in the future, diplomacy was required. There were no illusions when the terms were negotiated, and the terms included making relations amicable or, failing that, at least bearable. A partnership that would last until death separated them.

He never tells her, can’t read her expression when she steps in and locks the door behind her. He doesn’t say a word and neither does she, back turned as she slips out of her coat. _Amicable_ , he tells himself. He knows how this is supposed to work, a bottle of liquor awaits them both, he pours her a glass, and then one for himself, not one for small talk, but perhaps words are necessary. A toast, to the strongest of alliances, to a brighter, better future, _ad victoriam_ , he means to call her _soldier_ but it feels wrong behind closed doors. It’s hard to see her as one when she calls him _husband_ in that voice, almost a purr, yet almost too loud in the quiet room. He knows how it starts and ends, and nothing about what happens in the middle, but she will certainly be a good teacher. She looks at him the whole time, sips her drink then sets it aside, a clink of glass against steel, and then she inches closer, fingers brush against his when she does the same with his cup. He has but a moment to decypher the sparkle in her eyes before she leans in to capture his lips, his eyes remain open and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and Maxson can’t tell whether it’s despair or desire he tastes when they kiss. He wonders what it is _he_ must taste like, mind racing, skin too hot wherever she touched, he needs to feel her but can’t decide where to go first. Are they supposed to enjoy this? Pleasure was not part of their negotiations.

Her hands find their way down his chest, rubbing close to his waist as she brings them under the fabric, touches and grabs and scratches, until they part and his shirt is pulled up and over his head, thrown somewhere he can’t see. Her lips are swollen and she gasps for air, and he can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks, hair already a mess, blush on her cheeks. This is not the soldier he had seen on the battlefield, bloodied and dirty, scraped knees and bullet wounds. He wants her to know, but she cuts him short with another kiss, pushes him with just enough force to make it seem like a suggestion rather than an order. He knows something has changed when he refuses to budge and she freezes, inhales deeply, hides her face in the curve of his neck, softer kisses where she had bit down hard. He doesn’t move and she submits, the undiscussed term of their agreement, the boundary that hadn’t been set. She tests the waters and retreats when he does not. Later he will allow her to show him how much she wants to make this work, how much she wants to please him, but this is not the time. He knows how this is supposed to work, and he is going to show her.

His hands are shaking as he discards pieces of her clothing, exposes her flushed skin to the cold night air. The pit of his stomach coils in anticipation, a rush unlike any other as she allows him to do as he pleases, steps out of her pants when he tugs them down. Maxson doesn’t have to ask - he takes a step back and watches as she unclasps her brassiere and lets it fall to the floor, eyes trained on him, a brazen smile on her lips despite her uneven breathing. He pulls her by the waist to taste her lips once again, their kiss broken momentarily by a small gasp of surprise when he grabs her thighs and lifts her off the floor. Her hands are rough, calloused after so long out in the wasteland, taut muscles on her arms, battle scars drawing a map he now wished to know by heart, but the skin of her thighs is soft as she wraps them around his body.

The way to his bed is one he can trail with his eyes closed, after so many nights stumbling towards it, tired after a busy day. But this is no longer his from this night forward, not his but _theirs_ , their bed, their quarters. He will wake up beside her every morning, their clothes will share space in the dresser, she will address him as _Elder_ in front of others but _husband_ while they are here. He thinks it will remind him of earlier days, of shared accommodations when he was a Squire and each year after that, but this is different, unique. He might roll on his side one lazy morning and hear her grunting because his weight is crushing her, he might wake up to an empty bed but the sheets will smell like her. He will worry whenever she is out on the field, the one he had chosen to bear his children, an asset, an ally.

He never thought he would come to care about something so silly, about how she smelled of smoke and soap and something sweet, never thought he would be intoxicated by the scent of another. _A business arrangement_ , his mind says, but he no longer cares, not when she looks so enticing writhing under him, her body begging him for something no one else can give her, not anymore. She doesn’t look away when his hands find the lacy fabric of her smalls, and he makes sure to slide them off slowly, a present he wanted to take his time to unwrap. _His_ wife, his and no one else’s. All his, from head to toe, collarbones and breasts, scarred skin and battle hardened muscles, thick thighs and black curls between her legs. He palms her skin just above the knee, thumbs rubbing wide circles on her inner thighs, dares to slide a finger between her folds to stroke the spot he knew would make her squirm. Her sigh is short lived, his movements unpracticed, timid yet firm, and the way she moans when he does it again has him yearning for more.

But she’s impatient and he is happy to play along. She sits up on the bed and comes closer to the edge, his knee wedged between her thighs, her lips pressing hard against his as her hands work the buckle on his belt. He means to stand, do away with the rest of his clothes in order to give her better access, but nimble fingers slide under the waistband, featherlight touches before they wrap around his cock and give it a gentle squeeze. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding when she strokes him for the first time, she had his pants unzipped and he hadn’t noticed, and they slide down his legs and pool around his feet as she continues her ministrations. Maxson is panting before he knows it.

He presses her down on the mattress before it’s over too soon, her legs parting to accommodate him, hands helping him find her entrance. He thrusts hard, falls forward when the feeling of her wetness gripping his cock overwhelms him. Maxson had never felt something this good before, and he knows now he will never get enough of it. She lets out a sound that is half moan and half gasp when he pulls back and drives his hips forward again with full force, and he is sure he had never heard something so erotic before. Her nails dig on his flesh, breasts flat against his chest with every thrust, she doesn’t look him in the eyes now and stares at the ceiling instead, lips parted, back arching when he hits a tender spot.

He sets a bruising pace that doesn’t last, she pushes at his shoulders to get some distance between them, and he shifts to rest his weight on his hands for more leverage. She is about to say something, beg perhaps, but it matters little at this point. He thrusts one last time, and loses control when her nails sink deeper and she clutches him tighter, grunts through gritted teeth, his mind blank. They are still joined when he collapses on top of her, rolling on to his side to give her space, a satisfied smile on his lips, but she doesn’t smile. He dozes off right after, for a blissful minute or two, and she is staring when he opens his eyes. Pleasure was not part of their negotiations, but he had never felt it so intensely before.

This he knows precious little about, and despite their intimacy, the moment they had just shared, he wonders what is acceptable, appropriate. Should he say something? Should he hold her close, like lovers do in the books he had read, or turn around and sleep? She is resting on her belly, feet up in the air, and it feels like there is a rift between them that will never close. _Amicable_ , he remembers, and perhaps he should give it a try. He leans in just enough to graze his lips against hers, closes his eyes this time, lets her ease him down and straddle him. She kisses, licks, sucks, and he loves every second of it, loves how beautiful she looks on top him, loves how she rolls her hips and whispers in his ear. She takes his hands and shows him where she wants to be touched, encourages his exploration. Soon he has her on her back, eyes closed and breathing ragged, her voice low as she instructs him, more, harder, just like that, he curls two fingers inside her and her thighs hold him in place as he strokes with his tongue once, twice, smiles when she trails off and is reduced to a moaning mess.

“Arthur,” she cries out his name, not _Maxson,_ not _Elder_ , Arthur, intimate, sensual, and he wants to hear it again and again. He holds her down as she thrashes, pulls at his hair. She kisses him hard when he lets her go, licks his fingers clean while he watches. He will smell her on him all day tomorrow, a reminder of the first of many nights. He can get used to this. He may even come to like it, entering his quarters every night to find shelter in her arms, burying his cock between her legs, emptying himself deep inside her. His decision was the right one.

Someone had told him one should marry out of love, but love is not what he feels. Love is unknown, love takes too much time, love was not part of their agreement. He will grant her wishes, support her endeavors, and she will give him children, two or maybe three. They will try every night until she has conceived, and she will stay safe in the Prydwen until the baby is born. That she will be the one to raise them is part of her conditions, and so is the requirement that he should never consider sending them away. She will not pursue any other man and he will not lay eyes upon another woman, he will respect her as a soldier, a wife and a mother, and she will continue to acknowledge his authority. Whatever it is they feel, whatever this tangle of limbs means, _love_ is not the term to define it. Amicable, perhaps, and it will do just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you! I'm supposed to be writing other things, but I couldn't get this out of my head. This is my very first try at writing something nsfw, so feedback is appreciated, as well as suggestions for additional tags if I have missed any. If Maxson seemed like a terrible lay, and the Survivor a manipulative little minx, I have achieve my goals. Thank you for reading!


End file.
